


Wonderland

by Yel_Ashaya



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Ambush, Bajor, Cardassia, Cardassian Anatomy, Cardassian Culture, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Kidnapping, Love, Love Confessions, Obsidian Order, Occupation of Bajor, Sexual Abuse, Terok Nor, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yel_Ashaya/pseuds/Yel_Ashaya
Summary: Daphne Freeman didn't ask to be taken to Terok Nor. She didn't ask to be a comfort woman. But Gul Dukat has her under his thumb and she's been assigned to Dukat's right-hand man, Gil Damar, who proves to be a difficult person to get to know. But he can only resist her beauty for so long... and she begins to learn that there's more to Damar than meets the eye.
Relationships: Damar & Dukat (Star Trek), Damar/OC
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. The Sounds of War

**A/N: So... my love for Damar is showing no signs of fading. This is the result of it!**

**Disclaimer: none of the characters, except my OCS, are mine.**

**Chapter One: The Sounds of War**

**2366: Hyacinthus V**

Up until then, she had been content. The birds were tweeting, chirping, unseen in the sky up above. Leaves rustled in the wind, were torn from their branches and scattered all around her. She thought that she was imagining it; she had to be, didn't she? There was no one else around. At least… no one that she had seen.

And so Daphne Freeman carried on, drawing her brunette hair around her shoulders, attempting to shield herself from a sudden cold breeze. But then the air became still and she stopped walking. There was the sound of a twig breaking underfoot, then of heavy bootprints, advancing, getting closer.

She wondered if, perhaps, she could hear whispering, but the hushed voices were now coming from near behind her. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself, readied herself, prepared herself. Then she turned around, her hair flying in her face.

It was too late.

The soldiers trudged over to her, holding her firmly in their gaze; they would not let her go.

"What are you doing here, human?" one of the men, a glinn, spat at her.

His comrade, who also appeared to be a glinn, had taken a step closer, was holding her arms behind her back, breathing down her neck. "You will answer."

"I'm under no obligation to tell either of you," she muttered, hearing nothing but the frantic beating of her heart.

The soldier who was standing in front of her slapped her across the face; his cold, grey hand connected with her cheek and she would've stumbled backwards, if it had not been for the other soldier who was holding her in place.

"I won't tell you anything, Cardassian," she said through gritted teeth, though she was feeling rather less courageous than her words suggested.

The Cardassians apparently were beginning to pick up on this. A lone human, seemingly stranded on some barren wasteland of a planet, just waiting to be picked up by a patrol. She was hers to do with as they wished.

"If you don't wish to be shot dead here and now," one of the Cardassians carried on. "We will be forced to use harsher methods."

Harsher methods. She had no desire to find out what exactly that would entail, though she did have rather a good idea. She hadn't come to Hyacinthus V of her own accord; her friend was conducting research on some of the planet's plant-life when news of the Cardassians' presence there was released. So, now, she was in one of Hyacinthus V's largest and most diverse forests, only now, it seemed that she was the thing being studied.

As her heartbeat slowly settled, she decided to speak once again. "Look, I don't want any trouble with you. I'm not Bajoran." She would've gestured to her nose, smooth and without ridges, if one of the Cardassians hadn't been holding her arms. "I'm human."

"No matter."

"But… we're at war. Our people are at _war!_ I'm not Starfleet. I'm a civilian. Do you see any markings of rank on me?" she said, now becoming desperate. She knew that she was running out of options. She had to think of something else. Anything else.

But before she had the chance, one of the soldier's hands had shot forwards, was touching her face, caressing her cheek in an almost loving manner, a manner that made her stomach turn. She had no desire to have him touch her, to even have him look at her. She tried to flinched away, but it only served to encourage him. With his feet planted squarely in front of himself, he apparently had no intentions of stopping.

"Oh, you're quite beautiful for a human," he said, his voice low, threatening.

"I appreciate the flattery," she murmured. "Is this how you do it? You charm your way into a woman's affections?" She snorted.

"Why, how much would you be asking?"

"How much?" she repeated. Then her brows drew together and she understood; a horrible feeling overcame her. "Too much. Now, please, let me be on my way."

He blinked, as if startled by her headstrong answer. "I'm a glinn. Nothing's too much."

"A glinn?" she echoed. She had little idea of how Cardassian ranks worked, but he had said it with such pride that she gathered that it must be fairly high up. Maybe a commander or something like that. "Yet they've got you hanging around on some dead planet?"

"We're rooting out a resistance cell," the other Cardassian said simply. "Not that your honest Federation politics will help you to understand that."

"Okay…" she said, quietly, thinking. "You're a glinn. We can work something out, I'm sure. I suppose that I can give you _some_ idea, so that you don't feel left out," she said, softly, gently, almost seductively. "If you tell your friend here to take more than a few steps back."

"I'm not going anywhere," the Cardassian grunted.

"Oh, I think that I can handle a human female," the other one conceded. He grinned hideously when the other soldier had at last stepped away, albeit only a few metres.

Daphne rubbed her sore arms, then smiled. Looking at the soldier from under her lashes, she came over to him, her steps silent, her breathing steadied.

"Here?" she asked, her voice hushed, intimate. He could feel her breath against his skin; she knew that he wanted her. She braced herself, closed her eyes, but nothing happened.

That was until the soldier cleared his throat. "Turak, control yourself. She's human. We'll be risking an interstellar incident if we—"

"Oh, shut up, Belen," the other Cardassian snapped. "You're not doing anything. Just hold her still for me."

Daphne wanted the darkness to envelope her then, as the glinn's hands came forward hungry. Then his mouth was on hers, desperate, heavily; she felt like she was being pushed down, suffocated. The Cardassian who was holding her still had loosened his grip on her – though she didn't entirely know why. Ignoring her curiosity for the moment, she drew her knee back then jabbed it forward sharply, hitting the glinn in the crotch. He groaned, wheezed, staggered backwards, shouting wildly for his comrade to regain his hold on the human.

Her mind racing, her breathing haggard, Daphne snatched the other glinn's disruptor and held it aloft, aiming it solidly at the two Cardassians, one slighted, the other confused.

"Now, the two of you will walk away and leave me be," she said, fighting to remain calm, or, at least, to appear calm.

As if in surrender, the two aliens held up their hands, began to back away, but it seemed that Daphne had looked away for the slightest of moments, for one of them, the one who had been grabbing at her, pressing his foul lips to hers, had dashed forwards, yanked the disruptor from her shaking hand and was leering down at her.

"Let's change that, shall we? Belen, _keep_ a hold of her this time."

Belen did so. "We can't keep her with us, Turak. She's human."

"Yes, she is," he mused. "I'll warrant that many of our people have never seen a human woman before, not one so beautiful, or untainted by sickening Starfleet arrogance."

Upon realising that it had been she who had revealed to them that she didn't work for Starfleet, Daphne faltered, ashamed, confused.

"So, where are we taking her?" Belen asked.

"Terok Nor."

 **A/N:** **This started out as a rewrite for my fic** **_Corat Damar: Lives Lost,_ ** **which can also be found here. But I fell in love with the idea of writing something that's based in the Occupation period, on Terok Nor, so I just had to write this. As I've said, it started out as a rewrite but has become a story of its own. I decided to rewrite (and then write a completely** **_new_ ** **story)** **_Corat Damar: Lives Lost_ ** **because I wrote it years ago when I was quite young and (I hope) my writing style has improved since then.**

 **Anyway, that's enough of me. Obviously, it goes it without saying that you don't have to read** **_Corat Damar: Lives Lost_ ** **before you read this. They're two** **_completely different_ ** **stories!**

**Please let me know what you think!**


	2. On the Road to Nowhere

**2366: _En route_ to Terok Nor**

Daphne Freeman had long since given up fighting back; it was easier to walk, to traipse, behind the two smug Cardassian soldiers, than it was for her to let herself be hauled along the leafy floor of the forest. The canopy of the trees could have been miles up above, shielding them from light, from hope, from civilisation. Hyacinthus V was largely uninhabited, but for lower-order animal species and the odd human research expedition. Daphne wondered exactly what had happened to the other researchers. But she had heard nothing else and so she assumed that she was alone, with no one but a pair of Cardassians to keep her company. She would rather have been alone.

She took to counting her steps. One, two, three, four… then she was getting into the hundreds, then the thousands… and she gave up. Succumbing to yet another defeat, she sighed, took on the sights around her – the verdant trees, the swooping birds, the scurrying little mammals. It was so like Earth and yet not.

The three of them – the two Cardassians and the human – had trudged along in silence. As the sunlight began to fade and the orange glow of evening was eclipsed by the fierce whiteness of the planet's only moon, Daphne knew that her journey was coming to an end.

They came to a shipyard of sorts, but she saw no Federation, not even any Klingon, ships. The vessels were all that terracotta and yellow colour that was so favoured by the Cardassian military. None of them were warships or battle cruisers; they were all built like blocks, boxy and certainly not streamlined. They were freighters and she was as good as freight. She wondered if she would be treated as well; the idea made her shudder.

The shipyard was busy, bustling, with sounds and smells and sights assaulting her from every angle. There were more alien species than she could even count; they unloaded stock, loaded purchases onto their ships, underwent security checks, chatted amongst themselves. None of them seemed to notice – or, even if they glanced in Daphne's direction, to care – that something didn't seem right, that something was amiss. That she had a disruptor jabbed into her back.

As she fought to dispel the despair in her mind, Turak and Belen strengthened their grip on her, holding her by the elbows. A short walk through a grey, metal-walled concourse, so far removed from the lush greenery of the forest, brought them to a cargo ship that seemed to be waiting for them. It was waiting for her.

Taking one last look at the ship's orange hull, Daphne turned her gaze to Belen, who, she thought, seemed to be the more reasonable of the two.

"Will you please let me go?" she asked, the question barely more than a furtive whisper, her breath hot.

Belen looked anxiously at his comrade, who was engaged in a heated discussion with the officer who was currently preventing them from boarding the cargo ship. Belen glanced down at Daphne, a muscle in his jaw twitched, but ultimately he said nothing.

"You've said that I'm human. Belen, listen. The Federation will be on you like a pack of wolves if I'm mistreated."

He raised an eye-ridge. "What makes you think that you're that important?"

_"No,"_ she said quickly, forcefully. "That's not it. But I'm human. There are border skirmishes going on every day and so many people – human and Cardassian alike – are losing their lives. _Please,_ let me go."

Belen looked younger, more uncertain, than he had before. He pursed his lips, raised an eye-ridge, opened his mouth as if to speak. But Turak was striding over to them, wicked, triumphant grin on his face. Without another word, he ushered them into the cargo vessel.

It was hot, terribly hot, inside the ship. The air was stale, sweaty. Daphne almost found herself gasping for breath. With Turak leading the way, Belen led Daphne roughly into a small, windowless cubicle. In it was a pallet-like bed, a washbasin and a toilet.

Daphne stumbled a little bit, unsure, not wanting to go into the small room. She was still on the planet; the craft hadn't lifted off yet. There was still time. She could get away. Then again, Hyacinthus V was not far from Cardassia, or Bajor, at all; she would be on Terok Nor in no time at all.

She knew that once she was on the ship, she would effectively be in a prison. She was on that ship now.

As if curious or perhaps unsure, Belen gave her a parting glance, before removing her shackles and harshly shoving her onto the bed. She closed her eyes, waited; when she opened them, both he and Turak were gone and the door was locked. She was alone.

Numb, she carried herself the short distance over to the washbasin and studied her reflection in the scratched mirror.

She wasn't looking at herself; she couldn't see herself. Her brunette locks hung limply about her face; her porcelain skin was marred by the beginnings of bruise that had been gifted to her by Glinn Turak; her red lips were parted and quivering; her blue eyes were intense, unsure, glazed with tears.

But she wasn't going to cry.

She also had nothing to do, nothing to pass the time. She had no padds, no books, no replicator, no holodeck. She could just sit there, on the uncomfortable, hard pallet, hating herself for ever agreeing to go on that research expedition. She didn't like the idea of that. And so, she removed her shoes, stretched her aching feet, then shimmied out of her clothes. After folding up her top and trousers and placing them unceremoniously on the end of the bed, she washed. The water was cold, but the soap had a nice scent. She was just glad to be doing something.

Since there was no window, not even the smallest of openings, in the little room, she found herself straining to listen to the ship's engines. It was an old, dilapidated craft and Daphne doubted that it could have comfortably managed much more than warp factor two. And it certainly wasn't comfortable, so she decided that they were probably travelling at something closer to warp 2.1.

As the ship's tired engines hummed and thrummed, Daphne wrapped herself in a towel that she had found during a quick perusal of a storage chest next to the bed, then she lay back and closed her eyes for all of an hour.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes and recalled the stark brightness of the room, remembering where she was and where she was going to. Daphne shrugged her clothes back on and sat in silence, her legs folded up underneath her.


	3. Terok Nor

For longer than she could have cared to remember – it may have been seconds, minutes, hours – the ship carried on, floating through the galaxy, passing stars and planets and everything that Daphne knew. Then, the vessel dropped to impulse power and the stars were no longer faraway streaks of light in the darkness of space.

Daphne shuffled over to the edge of the pallet, got up, nearly lost her footing when the ship came to a sudden halt. A few mechanical noises followed, as the ship came to a standstill, hanging, suspended from somewhere. But she didn’t know from where.

She barely had the time to realise what was happening when the door to her cell-like room slid open. In stepped Turak and Belen, both of whom had sour looks on their grey faces. Turak’s hand came forward sharply and he grabbed her arm.

“Wait—” she started, the word almost a plea. She struggled to bend down, to slip into her shoes. And then Turak dragged her out of the room and back into the corridor; Belen jabbed a disruptor into her back, then she was forced to march.

“We’ve docked,” Belen said; she wondered if, perhaps, he had noticed her discomfort – not that _discomfort_ even did justice to how she was feeling. She felt ill, wounded, alone, confused; she could rely on no one but herself and she knew that.

Daphne snorted, though she was somewhat grateful for his breaking the awkward silence as they made their way through what she learned was not another corridor but was, rather, an airlock.

She narrowed her eyes. “Where? Where have we docked? It’s Terok Nor, isn’t it?” She wasn’t entirely honest why she had asked; of course it was Terok Nor. But that was what the two Cardassians had told her and she didn’t want to be too quick to take their word for anything.

The blackness of space no longer seemed as worrying, or as threatening, now that she was where she was. Now that she was on Terok Nor.

Terok Nor was black, grey, dark. Figures moved about like shadows, furtive and unseen. There was an unpleasant stench in the air – ore, sweat, blood. The dinginess was beginning to make her eyes hurt; she was squinting, screwing up her nose, as she, yet again, found herself trudging through the Labyrinthine hallways.

She heard screams, cries, shouts emanating from around corners and behind walls. Every now and then, what little light that there was would glint off the metal of the soldiers’ uniforms, illuminating not just the Cardassian overseers but also the Bajoran workers.

Daphne stilled her heart, forced herself to look down. She felt bad, but she knew that she shouldn’t, that she hadn’t caused this. But, maybe… the Federation had, Starfleet had. They had done nothing to stop the Occupation; they hadn’t sent in troops. Bajor was home to a warp-capable civilisation? The Prime Directive didn’t matter here, did it?

The Bajorans were either working furiously, fixing station circuitry, falling victim to the harsh treatment of their Cardassian captors, or sitting huddled. Their faces were gaunt, their clothes were tattered.

She didn’t want to look them in the eye, for them to see the pain, the disgust, the shame, the fear, that she was feeling. Nothing had happened to her. Yet.

“Humans don’t have much of a stomach for things like this,” Turak muttered to Belen, who was starting to fall behind.

“I’m fine,” Daphne snapped, glaring at Turak, who only smiled, apparently pleased with her confidence.

She had read about the Occupation of Bajor, about Terok Nor, the ore processing, the Cardassians’ treatment of the Bajorans. Her own people, _Earth,_ had been at war with the Cardassian Union. There were still border skirmishes, still people being killed; the was effectively still going on. She wondered if it would ever end, if Cardassia could survive fighting a war on two fronts – the Bajoran Resistance on one and the military of Starfleet on the other.

Gradually, the Bajoran faces that Daphne saw became fewer and fewer. Then she saw none. Just Cardassians. She gathered that she was obviously in their part of the station now. The air seemed slightly less close, less suffocating, but she found that she actually felt no better for it.

“These are your quarters.”

“What?” she asked, almost faltering.

“Unless you’d rather stay in ore processing?”

She gave Turak a wry smile. “These will do fine.”

“You’d better wash,” Belen added. “We Cardassians, we’re not like Bajorans. We value cleanliness.”

“I’m not a Bajoran. And perhaps if you gave the Bajorans here access to clean water, they’d be _able_ to value cleanliness?” she quipped, glaring at Turak.

Turak simply shrugged, keyed in the command to open the door. It slid open and she stepped in. They were large enough quarters, with a window that overlooked the vastness of space.

She peered closely at the two Cardassian soldiers. “That’s it?”

“Well, I’m sure that Belen would be more than happy to help you settle in,” Turak said, a horrible smile playing upon his lips. He glanced over at Belen, saw his embarrassed face. “But that wouldn’t be professional. Be ready by nineteen-hundred hours.”

She looked at Turak, then at Belen. “What time is it now?”

Belen cleared his throat. “Just coming up to sixteen-hundred hours.”

That was when she remembered that the Bajoran day had twenty-six hours. Fighting back the compulsion to sigh, she simply gave them a brief smile.

Then the two Cardassian soldiers left, left her alone. She stood there, dumbstruck, confused, for a minute or two, then she set about exploring her _quarters._ In the main section, there was a rather uncomfortable-looking couch, a few tables and a replicator. She found herself drawn to the window; it was large, circular and showed her so much of nothing. Just the dark canvas of space, interspersed with the golden dots that are stars.

Leaving the window, knowing that it would only fill her mind with more useless and unanswerable questions, she started to explore the sleeping quarters. There were two small beds, undeniably Cardassian in design, with sharp lines and geometric shapes; the headboards were red and green. She wondered why there were two beds, but thought no more of it. Coming off the sleeping quarters, she found the bathing quarters.

She saw something. Her reflection, though it didn’t seem like her. She looked tired, unsure, so she tried to manufacture a smile, wondering if, maybe, she could make herself feel better. But that was all that it was, _manufactured._ It meant nothing. She couldn’t make it mean anything.

She shrugged off her top, then stepped out of her trousers, slung them over the sink, along with the rest of her clothing and her shoes. Then she stepped into the sonic shower and stood still and silently in the cubicle. For a split second, she forgot where she was. But the moment that she stepped out of the shower, she remembered and her lower lip began to tremble.

The horror of realisation dawned upon her and, with a wavering hand, she lowered herself onto the bed. It was then that she noticed that something, an item of clothing, was hanging next to the bed. Furious, distraught, she yanked the dress off the hook that it was hanging on, stared at it wildly.

It looked beautiful. It felt beautiful. It was beautiful. As she held the dress in her hands, it felt light and floaty; it was red silk, very long, with the thinnest of straps and a low neckline. She held it up in front her naked body and she had to fight to suppress the smile that was forming on her face. She wanted to throw it on, to parade up and down in the room. But she knew where that room was. And she also knew why she would have to wear the dress.

Daphne began to wonder about what she could do, how she could escape from the trouble that she found herself in. So she shimmied into the dress, felt the soft material glide past her body as she pulled the straps over her shoulders. It fitted perfectly, a fact that unnerved her somewhat. Then she noticed the shoes that had been as yet hidden from her view beside the bed.

She stepped into them, then went back into the bathing quarters, regarded her reflection in the small mirror. She was dressed for a ball, for high-society, not to be shown around like she wasn’t even a person.

The commpanel buzzed; she nearly jumped. Calming down, she stepped gingerly over to the door.

“Yes?”

There was no answer, but the door did slide open and in stepped not a Cardassian, but a Bajoran. It was a woman. She was young, pretty, with a curious expression on her face and blonde hair that cascaded down her slight shoulders.

For a moment, Daphne just stared at the woman. She didn’t recognise the Cardassian who had shoved the Bajoran into the room, for he had already begun walking away.

Without even thinking, Daphne beckoned the young woman in.

“Hi,” she said softly, searching the woman’s eyes. “I’m Daphne. What’s your name?”

“Miri,” the woman whispered, not moving.

“It looks like we’re roommates,” Daphne said, attempting but failing to find some humour.

Daphne narrowed her eyes, seemed guarded. “Your nose… you’re human.”

Keela nodded, then reached out to take Miri’s hand, but the Bajoran snatched it away.

“You’re as good as a collaborator,” Miri spat. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“No,” Daphne countered desperately. “I’m nothing to do with this. I won’t answer for my people, for the Federation, but I’ve got no part in this. No more than you do. We’re here for the same reason. I think that, deep down, you know that.”

The Bajoran woman looked away briefly, then she brushed her blonde locks behind her shoulders. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that—” She stopped, faltered.

Daphne smiled, going to sit on the couch. She patted the space next to her and Miri perched herself beside her.

“When did you get here?” Miri asked.

“Just now. How about you?”

“Oh, I’ve been on Terok Nor for a while now. But, I guess, I just caught the right – well, wrong -- Cardassian’s eye. And now I’m here.”

Daphne mused. She looked down at her hands in her lap. “There’s probably a dress in here somewhere for you.”

“I have no desire to wear it. If I look like this, they won’t look twice at me.”

For a time, they sat there in silence. “I thought about that, too,” Daphne reasoned. “But they’ll just force you. It makes sense to get on their good side, to make them think that they trust us. Otherwise, we’ll just end up in ore processing, or worse…”

Miri snorted. “I’d rather that.”

“No,” Daphne countered. “I don’t know the whole truth, of course, but from what I do know, once you go into ore processing, you never come out. Tell me that I’m wrong.”

“You’re right,” Miri murmured. “Well, I suppose that I ought to find my dress, then, hadn’t I?”

Despite herself, despite everything, Daphne found herself smiling. She got to her feet, threw open the wardrobe, searched through the clothing – all of it was in Cardassian style and was, she found, rather tasteless and boring. But then her gaze caught upon the one favourable item. She pulled it out, showed it to the Bajoran woman.

Miri looked at the dress; it was shorter than Daphne’s and was black, but it seemed slightly looser. Pursing her lips, she took the dress, held it up and sighed. She gestured to the bathing quarters, then emerged half an hour or so later, having washed and now wearing the dress.

Daphne’s watched the girl’s face closely. She was wearing the slightest of make-up, kohl around her eyes and rouge on her cheeks.

“It’s in one of the cabinets,” Miri said with a shrug, apparently having noticed Daphne’s curiosity.

“Thank you,” Daphne said with a smile. Sure enough, she came across mascara, eyeliner, rouge, powder, eyeshadow, lipstick. She hadn’t ever met a female Cardassians and she didn’t know how they regarded cosmetics; she also wondered why they had gone to so much trouble to emulate Bajoran cosmetic practices. But then she snorted. Obviously, they wanted the Bajoran women to look their best; they probably would also have felt insulted if Bajoran – or human – women had their necks and foreheads painted blue.

So Daphne opened the tube of mascara, used it, then applied some rouge and powder, as well as some lipstick. A tear threatened to fall from her eye; she let it carve its path down her porcelain cheek, then drop into the sink.

Then she sat with Miri until the commpanel buzzed again.


	4. The Prefect of Bajor

**2366: Terok Nor**

“Oh.” Daphne raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “It’s you again.”

Belen looked slightly irritated at her nonplussed response, but his face soon regained its stoic façade. With a brief look at both Daphne and Miri, he nodded, apparently pleased with their appearances. They didn’t look scared, frightened, dirty, oppressed. They were beautiful, though they didn’t entirely look confident.

“Perhaps if you carried yourselves slightly better,” Belen observed.

Daphne said nothing to start off with, almost dumbfounded by the man’s arrogance, his ignorance. Then she could take no more of it. “Perhaps if you released us and the other Bajorans from this servitude, we’d be more accommodating.”

Then, she thought that he would have hit her. But he didn’t. He didn’t even reprimand her. As Miri watched in terror, Belen simply smiled at Daphne.

“Let’s go,” the Cardassian said with a degree of finality, ushering them out of their quarters and down Terok Nor’s dark, dingy corridors.

Daphne wondered if she would ever grow to like, to even put up with, the place. But she didn’t want to have to stay there long enough for that to happen. She realised, after walking for some time, that Miri had started to fall behind. The girl looked frightened and probably was.

“Miri, you’d better keep up,” Daphne whispered urgently. “Don’t get on their bad side, if you can help it.”

The Bajoran stared at her briefly. “I know. You’re right. But, it’s hard…” She looked away, bit her quivering bottom lip, held back a sob.

Daphne would’ve reached out to put a comforting hand on her arm, but Belen was watching both of them closely. So she just offered Miri a small, sympathetic smile.

“Where’s Turak?” Daphne asked of Belen, once they had come to stop outside a closed door.

Belen regarded her curiously. “I don’t know if you’re stupid or brave. Most in your position don’t ask so many questions.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not a Bajoran. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a prisoner of war.”

Belen smiled, though Daphne didn’t think that she could detect any menace in his face. “Turak is—ill. He had rather too much kanar last night.”

“Ill,” Daphne echoed, a critical smirk curling upon her lips. But she was glad that the hungover Cardassian wasn’t anywhere near her.

At last, the door slid opened and Daphne felt the butt of Belen’s disruptor at the small of her back as she and Miri were pushed into the room. It was large, square, flanked by empty grey walls and one large circular window. But she wasn’t interested in the room. She was interested in who was in it.

The women were dressed elegantly, opulently, with their hair coiffed and curled and piled high upon their heads. The air was perfumed, pleasant, a far cry from the stench of ore processing and the other Bajoran living quarters. The women’s clothing formed a rainbow, beautiful, colourful, eye-catching. But, underneath all of the make-up and the manufactured smiles, their eyes were cold, empty, sad.

Daphne’s breath caught. She turned around, her gaze hanging on Belen’s. “What is this?” she hissed.

“It’s what’s expected of you,” he replied, his voice and his words matter of fact.

“What’s expected…” Daphne repeated, disgust rising in her stomach.

Belen nodded. “Yes. That’s what I said. Now, stand over there.” His eyes ran over her body, the supple form wrapped in only the thin, scarlet material, her curves, her porcelain face. “Both of you, at the front.”

Her lip curling, she stepped over to the far end of the room, with Miri coming to stand next to her. There were six other women who were in the room. Belen then moved to stand next to the door; he stood stoically, still, unmoving, like a good soldier at his post.

And Daphne, Miri and the other women soon found out why Belen was playing the dutiful officer. The door slid open and in stepped a tall, wiry Cardassian. His strides were long, measured. Coming to a stop in front of the women, he already had a smile, a smile that seemed kind, upon his aquiline face.

Daphne swallowed, glanced out of the window. For what reason, she did not know. Nobody could help her now. And she knew that staring out of the window, at the emptiness of space, was going to be no help, as well. She saw that Belen was holding his disruptor more tightly. The man who had just entered the room was obviously important, very important. Belen’s eyes did not leave his commanding officer.

“I expect that all of you are frightened, that you have concerns and questions,” the man began, his voice smooth, calm, deep. “I also expect that you have heard many horror stories of we Cardassians. But, I assure you, we are a noble and sympathetic race.”

Realising that the man clearly loved the sound of his own voice, Daphne reached breaking point. “Then, when are you going to tell us what the hell we’re doing here?” She had spoken before she had known that she had; the words had simply fallen out of her mouth. But, even as he rounded on her, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her look scared, of hearing her be apologetic. So she was still and silent.

“I admire such confidence,” the Cardassian said, though Daphne found that this response had infuriated her more than any other response could’ve done. “Bajoran women aren’t usually—” He broke off, saw her nose, smiled. “Ah. You’re not Bajoran.”

“No, I’m not,” Daphne quipped. “But these women are and—”

He held up a hand, silenced her. “I’ve heard enough.”

If he had, in fact, wished to hear more, he would have had to wait, anyway, for someone else had come into the room. A gil, or so Daphne could tell, stumbled into the room, almost colliding with the doorframe.

“Gul Dukat, forgive the intrusion, but we’ve got a problem in ore processing,” he began, almost tripping over his words.

Gul Dukat. Daphne knew who that was. The Federation’s news broadcast systems had been none too kind with their reports on him. Trying not to appear too curious, too inquisitive, too nosey, Daphne watched. But she still had her head bowed, her gaze lowered. She heard the quietest of noises, saw that Miri was fighting back a sob. Surreptitiously, Daphne reached down, squeezed the Bajoran’s hand.

“Damar, what is it now?” Dukat whispered hotly, taking the officer to one side.

Damar cleared his throat. “Well, there’s a—a small rebellion, you could say.”

Dukat glared at him. “A rebellion?”

“Well, no, not a _rebellion_ as such.”

Daphne nearly snorted. _Is it any wonder?_ she thought to herself.

“If it’s not a rebellion, then, what is it?” Dukat demanded, trying to keep his voice low.

“More like a revolt,” Damar finally said, though neither he nor Dukat looked happy with that definition. “Some of the—” He sneered. “Bajorans… they’re not taking too well to having their rations cut.”

Dukat pursed his lips, considered for a while. “I gave no such command to cut rations.”

Uncomfortable, Damar shifted his weight from foot to foot. “No, not station-wide, Sir, I know. But these are the Bajorans from Section Alpha.”

“Ah.” Dukat folded his arms. “Section Alpha.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Section Alpha produces the most uprisings,” Dukat said. “I do regret it, but their rations are being cut for their own good. Make sure that they understand that.”

Damar nodded. “Yes, Sir. I’ll see to it right away.”

He turned to leave, his gaze not even wandering over to the women, but Dukat had grabbed his arm.

“Actually, Damar, you stay here,” Dukat said. He waved over Belen, who, without taking his eye off the women – though Daphne felt that his gaze was directed particularly at her – came to stand before him. “Belen, you sort it out. I do think that Gil Damar’s earned a reward of sorts for his service.”

Belen grunted out some sort of a reply, then slipped through the door.

“Uh, Sir, what should I do if the Bajorans don’t listen?”

“You must give them a chance, Belen,” Dukat pressed. “But… if they ignore you, then you have my orders to shoot them.”

Despair threatened to overcome Daphne then. She would’ve shouted, challenged him, but she knew that no righteous tirade of hers would be listened to. Feeling her heart pound in her chest, she suddenly felt very lightheaded. She dreaded to think what the Bajorans, what Miri, were feeling, thinking, despairing of at that very moment.

“Dukat, is that a good idea?” Damar inquired in a small voice.

But Dukat knew that his officer would never openly challenge him. He simply smiled as Belen left.

“Now, ladies,” Dukat carried on, resuming his little speech as if nothing had happened. “I hope that you can accept my apologies for that interruption. You’ve probably realised by now that I am Gul Dukat. But I am not the ruthless dictator that your leaders, Bajoran or otherwise, make me out to be. I am a patient man, but within reason. I will tolerate misunderstandings, but I will not tolerate disobedience.”

Swallowing, Daphne forced herself to look up, to catch his eye. He noticed, intrigued by her boldness. Boldness or naivete. Swaggering over to her, he grinned, then he walked up and down the line, scrutinising each of the women.

“What will happen to our families?” one of the women, a tall, slender woman with dark skin asked.

“Such insolence will not be tolerated,” Damar quipped, standing beside Dukat, squaring his broad shoulders.

Dukat smiled softly, too softly. “No, the young lady has a point, a very good one at that.” He sighed. “Your families are being looked after.”

“Oh and I suppose that you’ll look after us, won’t you?” Daphne said, an unpleasant taste in her mouth. “Well, are you going to answer me or just stare at me?” She hadn’t meant to say it, but she had wanted to say it. There had been a moment, a long moment, of silence in the room. The only sound had been the steady humming of Terok Nor’s engines; she felt compelled to fill that silence, even if it meant by asking stupid questions.

The woman who had asked about their families cast her a shy look of encouragement, for which Daphne was thankful. But she felt bad for having asked what she had asked; the woman had asked a legitimate question and she had just been angry, offended. She hadn’t seen what these Bajoran women had likely seen. But then she reconsidered, a million thoughts running through her mind at one time. She hadn’t seen… but she knew that she was going to feel.

Damar had stepped over to her, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. His hand came to rest upon his disruptor in its holster. Pursing his lips, his gaze clung to hers and he did not look away.

“Sir?” he asked of Dukat, who was standing very quietly in thought.

Gul Dukat grinned. “Every question is valid,” he said. “Though—” His piercing gaze settled on Damar. “Some are more valid than others.” He looked back at the woman who had asked the first question. “You have my word that your families are being looked after. I may be many things, but I am a man of my word.”

The woman gave him a small nod of appreciation.

In the meantime, Daphne had not taken her eyes off Damar. She was willing him to glance away, to be uncomfortable, but he didn’t flinch.

“Well, I’ll say one thing, humans are certainly spirited,” Dukat said, with an unpleasant grin.

“Spirited enough to stop interfering in matters that don’t concern them?” Damar quipped.

Daphne would’ve said that she hadn’t _chosen_ to come to Terok Nor, that she didn’t _ask_ to be captured by Turak and Belen, but she didn’t. She just held her head up, watched Damar closely.

Eventually, he looked away, tearing his gaze from her as if it were a hardship. She was courageous, beautiful; he could see that, but she was human.


	5. All Kinds of Attention

**2366: Terok Nor**

Daphne couldn't even remember leaving the room where she and the other comfort women had stood; she couldn't even remember walking through Terok Nor's dark, cavernous corridors; she couldn't even remember returning to her and Miri's quarters.

Tearing herself from her reverie, she saw that Miri was clutching a mug of something warm protectively, staring out of the window. She said nothing, just sipped at her drink and sighed.

"Are you okay?" Daphne asked in a small voice, knowing full well that it was a silly question. But she didn't like the quiet.

Miri turned around, smile warmly. "I'm okay, I guess," she said, though her voice said otherwise. "Are you?"

Daphne nodded. She didn't know how she was feeling. It wasn't good, it wasn't bad… it wasn't anything, really.

"Thank you for what you did earlier."

"What did I do?"

Miri raised an eyebrow, laughed quietly. "What do you mean? They way that you challenged Gul Dukat."

"Oh, Miri," Daphne said quickly. "I only said what everyone was thinking. Besides, that other woman – I didn't catch her name, something like 'Selena' – said just as much as I did."

Miri raised a dismissive hand. "She did, but you're here with me. So, I just wanted to thank you for it."

"I wouldn't be so quick to thank me," she said, a grim look overcoming her features. "Anyway, don't you remember what Belen said?"

At that, Miri almost dropped her drink. She steadied herself, downed the rest of the beverage, set the mug down on the table. With stars dancing silently against the empty background of space, she caught Daphne's eye.

"The party?"

Daphne nodded solemnly. "Some party it'll be." She sighed, bit her bottom lip.

* * *

Daphne had had to learn the hard way not to criticise, insult, disobey, ignore, a Cardassian officer, be they the lowest garresh or the highest legate. She had barely stepped into the wardroom, where she had been forced to witness something akin to the Last Days of Pompeii, when she had felt someone's arm snake around her waist. She had yelped, glanced around with so much fear in her eyes, but the Cardassian had only smiled. It had seemed to please him, to excite him.

Swallowing hard to settle the bile in her stomach, she had allowed herself to be led into a dark corner of the room, knowing that making a fuss wasn't going to help her. She had heard the odd moan, the bubbling of kanar, the station's engines. But she had also heard the legate's simpering, pandering words… and she had felt his hands, rough, pawing, grasping.

Then she had refused his attempt to yank her out of the room, down the dingy corridor and back to his own dark quarters. That was when he had slapped her, the harsh grey skin of his hand connecting with her soft cheek. She had not made a sound but had stumbled backwards in stunned silence.

Now, she was watching as another figure, broad-shouldered, brooding, swaggered over between the two of them.

"Legate Mardek," the officer said, smiling the shortest, the fakest of smiles.

Mardek offered him an insincere grin. "It surprises me that you are here, _Gil."_

Damar – for Daphne remembered that that was his name – snorted. "Indeed. I was under the impression that you had been recalled to Cardassia, for, what was it? Something to do with arms trad—"

Legate Mardek held up a hand, apparently no longer amused by Damar's attempt at banter. "Something like that. But, now, I do believe that I should greet our esteemed host." He glanced to the far end of the room, settled his gaze upon a slender figure, whose long neck supported a sculpted jaw and an imperious face.

 _Dukat._ Daphne shuddered as concern washed over her. Then she found that she had all the more reason to feel worried when Legate Mardek crossed in front of Damar, pressed a rough hand to her cheek, let his touch travel down her side, resting appreciatively on her hip.

"You haven't seen the last of me."

Her lip curled, she looked away. Then she heard him laugh and she looked up to see that he had gone to join Gul Dukat. She also saw that Damar's deep blue gaze was on her, not on her body, but on her face, as if he were trying to read her, unravel her. But he never said anything.

Daphne let out a soft grunt, turned away, then refocused on the Cardassian. "You want me to thank you?"

"Thank me?" he repeated, snorting. "For what? All I did was catch up with one of my greatest friends." He nodded in Legate Mardek's general direction; the legate was cackling away, slapping Dukat on the back as they shared some private joke.

She regarded him, wide-eyed, confusion settling in her mind; she brushed it away. "Of course."

Then something else, something far more important, pressing, distressing, caught her eye. She heard Miri's soft voice; next to Selena, the Bajoran girl was struggling, pinned to the wall by a large, burly officer.

Daphne took an unconscious step towards the small Bajoran, but she felt a restraining hand on her arm. Looking back with a scowl, her gaze focused on Damar, who was regarding her with serious eyes.

"Get _off_ me," she hissed.

He did not take his hand off her arm. "It's best if you don't interfere."

"What do you care?"

"I don't," he quipped. "But I'm doing you a favour."

"What, like before, with Legate Mardek?"

He grunted. "That wasn't a favour."

 _Whatever._ She returned her attentions to Miri, who was still thrashing silently, desperately trying to hold off the Cardassian's affections. In a moment, the wiry figure of Dukat had skulked over to the corner, had clapped a firm hand on the back of the Cardassian's uniform cuirass and had pulled him away from her.

Looking over Damar's shoulder, Daphne watched curiously, fearfully, as Dukat crossed his arms. His eyes were fierce.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

The Cardassian immediately looked uncomfortable. He tore his gaze away from Miri, who was breathing so very heavily, and over to his commanding officer. "I wasn't doing anything."

"It was a stupid question," Dukat said quickly, smoothly. "You were doing something. Something wrong. Something that I don't condone and I certainly won't accept."

"Sir, she's Bajoran. She's a comfort woman; I don't understand—" He seemed to be pleading now, though pleading what for, he did not know.

Dukat held up a hand. "Leave her alone." He then waved over another officer, Belen. "Take this woman to her quarters. Ensure that she isn't subjected to further harassment."

Belen gave Dukat a slightly curious glance but said nothing else. He then ushered Miri out of the door. Miri turned around before the door slid shut, caught Daphne's eye, said something that Daphne couldn't quite hear, then she was gone.

Daphne shuddered; she stumbled backwards, pressed a hand to the wall, cold as it was. The glittering stars framed her face as she looked at Damar. He said nothing, simply watched her.

"I think she said that—that she's sorry," Daphne muttered, meaning only to think it and not to say it.

But Damar didn't reprimand her. "Don't look at me; we Cardassians have poor hearing."

For some reason, she smiled. But she didn't mind. "Why would she be sorry? She didn't do anything. It was that disgusting Cardassian—" She faltered, saw Damar's offended expression. "Sorry. Wait. Why am _I_ apologising?"

Her dress suddenly felt very tight; her chest was heaving; her red lips parted in realisation. "Oh," she whispered. "She's sorry because she's left me here." She saw that Damar had not left her, had not told her to shut up. He reached over to a nearby table, grabbed a bottle of something. It was thick, black. He had also managed to procure two glasses.

Before she knew it, she had taken one of the glasses, and she had let him pour her a drink. She didn't like kanar. Truth be told, she'd never had it. But it looked horrible. And yet, now, she knew that she couldn't really refuse it.

Daphne sipped at the liquid, viscous as it was, saw that Damar had already swigged his. A quick glance, and that's all that it was, gave her the answer that she was looking for. Legate Mardek, separated from Dukat when the gul had dressed down that overzealous officer, had decided to return to her.

"He said that'd he back," Daphne murmured.

Damar grunted, poured himself another glass. "You're not making very good progress," he said, eyeing her almost-full glass.

Confused for a moment, she stared at him, then looked at Mardek, then she smiled. She sipped at the kanar, found that the taste was actually growing on her. As she sipped at the drink, she nearly had cause enough to spill it when Damar wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his large frame easily holding her still.

She squeaked, tried to tear away from his hold, but he was too strong for her. "What the–?" she started, already forgetting that she would be likely adding Damar to the growing list of Cardassians on Terok Nor that she had disrespected.

Then she heard Damar whisper something in her ear, his breath warm against her face. "In case you hadn't noticed, your friend's coming over." He nodded to the legate. "I suggest that you feign interest in me for the time being."

Oh, he _suggests,_ does he? Daphne didn't know what she wanted to do – if she wanted to pull away, to cry, to be sick, to give up. She did know, however, that she had very few options available. So, she gave Damar the faintest of nods, sipping genially at her kanar. She finished the glass, and Damar poured her another.

The pair of them walked, Damar with his arm around her, coming to sit in a more secluded corner of the room. Damar waited until she had perched herself on the edge of the sofa, then he sat down, the seat creaking under his weight. He set the bottle on the table, regarded her curiously.

"What is a human doing on Terok Nor?" he asked, gruffly.

The question had caught her off-guard. She nearly choked on her kanar. "I—Do you really care? Does it really matter? I'm here, aren't I?"

He pursed his lips. "You are," he echoed. Then he poured himself yet another helping of kanar, winced as he downed it and it burned its way down his throat. "I'm just interested."

"I was on a research expedition," she began; she noticed his narrowed eyes and groaned. "No, I'm not a spy. It wasn't a military expedition. You Cardassians, you're so paranoid."

"It's kind of difficult not to be."

"It was a scientific mission."

"You're a scientist?"

She shook her head. "No. I just offered help to a friend."

"On Cardassia, the sciences are dominated by women. On the whole, the military is made up of men."

She snorted, nodded in understanding, as she cast her gaze around the room. It was large but now it seemed so small. She watched, curiously, detached, as the dozen or so beautiful, bruised Bajoran women did their best to accommodate the Cardassian officers who swaggered about the room. The women laughed but there was no humour; they flirted but there was no desire.

Holding his glass of kanar, he watched her – her thoughtful expression, her bright eyes, her delicate face. She was wearing only a dress of the deepest red, cut low on her chest, the hem reaching down past her ankles and to the floor. For the shortest and stupidest of seconds, he thought about reaching out to touch the silky material. But he knew that he would then have to press a hand to her soft cheek, cup her chin, marvel at her beauty as she sat there, still, framed by the light of a thousand stars.

So he didn't. He put the glass on the table. The two of them sat, quietly.

Daphne took to blowing air through her lips as she watched the Cardassian, shyly. Looking over the rim of her glass, she decided that she could take no more silence, and she spoke.

"Damar?"

He grunted, looked up.

"That's your name, isn't it?"

He nodded, seemed slightly annoyed at her question.

She considered, screwed up her nose when the fumes from the kanar got too much for her to bear. Gingerly, she put the near-empty glass down on the table. Drawing herself back up, she caught Damar's eye.

"How long do these… soirées usually last?"

He made a face of contemplation. "It depends."

"On what?"

"On…" He shifted in his seat; his gaze, then his hand, wandered over to the bottle of kanar. He looked into it, saw that there were only dregs, and downed it. "Well, on how well the men behave. And on how well the women behave."

"Behave?" She snorted. "You mean how long these Bajorans manage to keep the soldiers' grasping hands away from them?"

Damar only shrugged, seemed unconcerned with her analysis of the events. "Regardless, I'm on duty in four hours."

"Four hours?" She raised an eyebrow, threw her gaze over to the empty bottle of kanar that was still clutched in his grey hand. "You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious," he said shortly, eyeing her closely – he had noticed, he had always noticed, her beauty. "Human."

With that, he staggered to his feet, pressed a hand to the wall for support, almost leaning over her. She shifted away, gave him more space, and he managed to assume a standing position. She let out a long, relieved breath, leant back on the sofa. The sofa dipped. And she soon saw why.

It was Legate Mardek.

Before she had even had the chance to stand, to move away, he had gathered her up in his arms, pulled her onto his lap. She gasped, crossed her legs, regarded him with fierce, fearful eyes.

"Get off me," she hissed, squirming.

He held her easily. "I don't think so. I've never had a human, and you're so very beautiful."

Horridly familiar, he pressed his mouth to her face, her neck, her shoulders; his lips were rough and cold. His harsh hands held her face, her waist, squeezing and caressing, and she would've passed out. He was groaning, moaning, muttering, murmuring, and she felt sick. His hands were groping, pressed against her thighs, trying to prise her legs apart.

He drew back for breath and she wondered if perhaps that would be her moment. She managed to shrug off the hand of his that was on her cheek, but he only dragged his touch down to her neck, nearly squeezing her throat. She coughed, spluttered, was out of breath.

As hope faded, as the room began to spin, she saw a sight that she never thought she would call welcome. The other Cardassian, the one called Damar, hadn't left yet. His attentions had been piqued by yet another bottle of that black, viscous liquid. But he put the bottle down, wiped his mouth, and beneath the window, in the corner, he saw Daphne. Her pretty face was distorted into an expression of pain, shame, sorrow, regret, her body entwined with the burly figure of the legate.

Damar strode over, grabbed the legate by his collar, dragging the man into a standing, if stunned, position.

On the sofa, Daphne caught her breath, pushed the straps of her dress back over her shoulders, uncrossed her legs; she regarded Damar from under her lashes, confused and thankful.

"I thought we'd cleared this up," Damar said, not letting Mardek leave his gaze. "The human has no interest in you."

Mardek squared his shoulders, rounded on Damar. "Oh, and she is interested in you, _Gil?"_

Damar grunted, his firm jaw set, his eyes narrowed. "Yes."

Daphne would've leapt to her feet, stood between the two of them, but Mardek had acted before she could've done anything. The legate swept forwards, landing his fist squarely in Damar's jaw. The gil stumbled backwards, pressed a hand to his swollen lip. Tasting the blood, he wasted no time in returning the punch. Mardek would likely have gone in for another hit, but Damar had already moved out of his way.

He came to stand by Daphne, who was watching with wide eyes. "As I've said, I've got duty in four – well, _almost_ four now – hours."

Then he left.

And Daphne had noticed her opportunity. Swiftly, quietly, stealthily, she followed Damar, left with him through the door. Before she had realised what she had done, she was standing in the dark, blue-lit corridor with the Cardassian.

"What are you doing?" His words were gruff, but he did sound interested in whatever response she might have given.

Caught out, caught unawares, Daphne stared at him for a moment. "I'm leaving."

"With me."

"With you," she repeated, thinking over her words. "But not _with_ you."

He raised an eyeridge, was about to say something, it seemed, but he ultimately said nothing. Instead, he started walking, his steps slow and laboured as the kanar made its way through his system, coming to rest in his mind.

Quietly, thinking that she was following him at a safe distance, she let loose a small giggle, amused at his wayward steps.

Damar growled, turned around."Is something funny?"

But she shook her head, gave him her most innocent look. He seemed to be in an argumentative mood but whatever arguments he might have made faded away there and then when he misjudged stepping over an exposed piece of ODN circuitry. He stumbled past a pair of passing Cardassians, who only cast him curious looks, seeing nothing but a drunken comrade, accompanied by a beautiful comfort woman.

Daphne lurched forwards, her hands on Damar's back, pushing him back upright. He swayed a little bit but eventually steadied himself.

"I suppose you're expecting me to walk you home?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow, but she did smile. Slightly. "Home isn't a word that I'd use."

He waved a hand. "Whatever."

Silence engulfed them for the moment as they plodded on. He lurched forwards, then backwards, losing his balance, and she didn't even think as she struggled to hold him steady.

Damar grunted, turned around, caught Daphne's blue gaze. "What--?"

She shook her head, smiled, let him place a hand around her shoulder, as they walked slowly, uncomfortably, through Terok Nor's winding hallways.

"Where are your quarters?"

"I don't know. Where are the comfort women usually put?" Then she remembered. "In the Habitat Ring. Corridor… H-2, section 40 Beta."

They wound their way through Terok Nor's dark corridors, Daphne having to resist the temptation to thank the Cardassian for helping her.

But she couldn't resist for long. "Damar?" she started, her hand still touching his back as she helped him through the hallways. "Thank you. For this."

He shrugged, but she saw a smile tugging on his lips. "The way I see it, you're helping me, too."

"I suppose I am," she said, though his lurching steps were becoming more and more difficult to control.

The welcome sight of the door to her and Miri's quarters was just around the corner. The door slid open and Damar broke free from her hold, but not without turning to face her.

"Here you go," he muttered.

She gave him a smile of sorts, warily stepping through the door. She could smell the kanar on his breath, and the curiosity – curiosity that she might have confused with desire – in his eyes. There was a part of her, the tiniest part, that was curious, too.

Daphne stood there, still, in the doorway, and Damar's gaze was on her – on her slender figure, clad only in the scarlet dress; on her red, parted lips; on her cascade of brunette hair.

"I'll go." And he did.


	6. Alone, Again

**2366: Terok Nor**

Left alone, Daphne began to think, to remember. She thought of that insufferable legate, and she thought of Damar, of how she had stood in the doorway, still, waiting, but waiting for what, she didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. Their gazes had lingered, and then she had gone.

“Miri?” she called out, stepping through the door, kicking off her shoes. She flopped down onto the sofa, head back, eyes closed. “Miri, are you in?”

Getting no response, she frowned, drew herself back into a seated position. She rubbed her sore feet, sighed when she felt the beginnings of blisters on her heels. Then she got up, coughed, smelt the kanar on her breath and winced.

Slowly, she made her way over to the sleeping quarters, where, on one of the beds, she saw the Bajoran, curled up, her hair cascading over her pretty face, her legs drawn up to her chest. Daphne smiled, then returned to the main quarters, sat back on the sofa, and sighed.

She pressed the panel for the replicator and keyed in the command. Moments later, a hot chocolate appeared. She reached for it tentatively, blew it, smelt it, sipped at it. It seemed, as she had guessed, that Cardassians didn’t much care for hot chocolate, and so she had had to input in what ingredients she could remember. But the replicator had done a surprisingly good job, and she was happy with it.

As she sat on the sofa, comfortably as it was, she thought. About the previous events of the night, about what had happened. Her lip curled as she recalled that sickening legate fawning all over her, touching, groping, grasping; she could nearly taste him on her mouth; she could almost hear his foul words as they grazed her ear. But then that sneer became a smile of sorts, as she remembered what had gotten the legate away from her. Damar.

As the sweetness of the hot chocolate slowly washed away the cloying bitterness of the kanar, Daphne’s eyes became lidded and her head became heavy. She yawned, put the mug down on the table. She would’ve showered but she hadn’t wanted to wake Miri, who, she felt, had had to endure much worse than she had, so she simply curled up on the sofa, closed her eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

“You snore.”

Daphne awoke with a startle. She thrashed about, almost knocking her empty mug over in the process. Pressing a hand to her head, she brushed the hair out of her eyes and looked blearily at Miri.

Dressed in a white robe, the Bajoran gave her a curious look. “What is it, Daphne?”

Daphne groaned, rubbed the back of her neck. “Uh—nothing. I’m just pleased that you’re here.”

“Where did you think I was?” Miri asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I knew you were here. But when I came back, from the… _party,_ you were fast asleep in the sleeping quarters and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have worried,” the Bajoran murmured, suddenly sounding rather despondent.

Daphne frowned, stood up. “I was going to have a shower, but I’d rather ask _you_ what’s wrong.”

Miri crossed her arms, started to walk away, only to be stopped by Daphne’s hand on her arm. “I’m okay, Daphne.”

“No. You’re not.”

“You’ve known me for a few days. How do you know if I’m okay or not?”

Daphne smiled. “Neither of us are okay.” A tiny smile creased upon her lips; she laughed hollowly. “But you seem… less okay.”

“That makes no sense,” Miri quipped, but her words had been quiet, unsure. “Well… let’s just say that last night was the last time that you’ll have to worry about disturbing me.”

“Miri, I don’t—” Daphne’s eyes grew wide, her mouth fell open. “Oh, no, what’s happened? Where are they taking you?” Then she wondered, however vainly, that she had got everything massively wrong. “You’re going back to Bajor?” Not that Bajor would’ve been much to return to, she realised sadly, almost guiltily.

Miri shook her head, took Daphne’s small hand in hers. “No, Daphne.” Now, she sounded calmer, more confident. “I’m--- I don’t know how else to say it, but I’m moving in with one of the officers.”

“Moving in?” Daphne repeated, feeling very lightheaded all of a sudden. “Why would you--?” Then she swore. “No, you don’t have a say in this. I’m so sorry.”

“No, I _do,”_ Miri pressed.

“Which officer?” She didn’t even know why she had asked; she knew perhaps four of the Cardassians by name.

But Miri was silent, looked away.

Daphne, despite knowing her for only a few days, knew that look. She had spent nearly one hundred hours with the girl and she couldn’t be fooled. Not now.

Seeing Daphne’s raised eyebrow, Miri gave a sigh of defeat. “Gul Dukat.” She then saw the fury, the fear, rise in Daphne’s eyes, and so she squeezed Daphne’s hand with such desperation that Daphne didn’t have it in her to let go of her.

“Listen to me, Daphne, he gave me a choice. Did you hear that? A Cardassian giving a Bajoran a _choice?_ That never happens.”

“Yes, but _why_ would he be giving you a choice? Because he wants something from you, Miri, and we both know what that something is!”

Miri groaned. “I’m not stupid, Daphne. I grew up under the Occupation. I didn’t just come swanning in here like you did. You’re an outsider; you don’t have any idea of _what_ you’re talking about.”

That had hurt her slightly, wounded her, but she didn’t say so. Her mouth became a flat line and her eyes were serious. “I used to be an outsider but I’m not anymore.”

“Dukat chose me,” Miri said, and she had said it almost as if she were trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince Daphne. “After he had me sent back here, he checked in on me. He asked me how I was and said that I had… well, that I had impressed him.”

“I’m sure.”

Sighing, Miri pressed a hand to her forehead, turned away. “The shower’s yours, if you want it. I’m going to get dressed and then I’m leaving in an hour.” With that, she walked away, towards the sleeping quarters, and she started to pack up her things. Not that she had a lot to take with her.

Daphne stood there, smouldering for a while. She picked up her mug as if it were the biggest hardship, placed it in the replicator and watched as it shimmered away. Then she threw her shoes into the sleeping quarters, walked straight past Miri, and into the bathing quarters.

There, she saw that someone was watching her. She knew that someone, or she should’ve done, but her reflection wasn’t what she had been used to. The woman was beautiful, yes, but her eyes were tired and her lips were quivering. Her brunette hair was limp, and wondered if, maybe, she had lost weight. She couldn’t have done; she’d been on Terok Nor for a few days. But still. She wondered.

The sonic shower was more welcome than she could have imagined. She stood there, let the heat wash over her body, as she lathered layer upon layer of soap on her glistening skin, desperately trying to get rid of the stench of the legate, as well as the kanar.

She draped a towel around herself and stood in front of the sink, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, then emerged from the bathing quarters.

The commpanel buzzed and she watched from afar as Miri let whoever it was come in. The door slid open to reveal the stocky form of Belen, accompanied this time by Turak. The kanar hadn’t quite been flushed out of Daphne’s system, and she hiccupped.

Belen cast his gaze over to her; he saw what she was wearing, or, rather, not wearing, and he would’ve blushed if he could’ve. Ignoring Belen, Turak cleared his throat.

“You’re ready?” he asked Miri.

Miri nodded. She didn’t seem eager but she didn’t seem frightened, either, Daphne noted.

“Good. Gul Dukat doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

For a minute, Daphne thought that Miri was going to leave without saying goodbye but the Bajoran girl turned around, gave her luggage to a rather perturbed-looking Turak, and went over to her.

“We can still see each other,” Miri said softly, genuinely.

Daphne nodded, smiled. “I know. I just— I guess—I care about you. You were someone to talk to, and now, well… we don’t have that.”

“I know.” Then she leant closer. “Dukat isn’t stupid, I know that. But I get the feeling that he’s a man who can be easily swayed. I could probably talk to him,” she whispered.

“I appreciate the thought,” Daphne muttered. “But maybe you shouldn’t do anything just yet. I’ll see you soon. Take care.”

Miri smiled. “You, too.”


	7. Under Control

**2366: Terok Nor**

And then, she was alone. She had watched as Miri had left, as she had followed Belen and Turak to his quarters, to Dukat’s quarters. And it made her feel sick. But she couldn’t say so; she couldn’t tell Dukat, or even Miri. She just had to let her go.

Now, Daphne spent perhaps ten minutes just standing, staring, and then she decided that she was getting nowhere. So she dressed, and so, quickly, as if she didn’t care - - but she did, which only served to disturb her - - she checked her appearance in the mirror. Combing her fingers through her hair, she pursed her lips, smiled at herself, if for no reason other than to convince herself that everything wasn’t lost, not yet, anyway. She left.

Voices called after her, shouts from angered, confused Bajorans, and leers from drunken, intrigued Cardassians; the sounds echoed down the corridors, but she ignored them. Eventually, the corridors became less winding and she came to a large, atrium-like opening. It was slightly less dingy but just as oppressive, claustrophobic, close as the rest of Terok Nor had so far proven for her.

Fighting back the temptation to frown, to screw up her nose in disgust, she allowed herself to look upon the scene. Again, she was reminded of that Ancient city of Pompeii in the throes of disaster, as she watched the elegantly dressed Dabo girls at the games tables, as they smiled and flirted and laughed with the officers who stood amongst them. She watched the bartender as he mopped down the bar, trying desperately to pull her gaze away from one end of the Promenade, where, she saw, Bajorans, huddled and dirty, were being herded into containment cells, families separated.

Keeping her head low, Daphne stepped quickly, gingerly, through the crowds, coming to the bar. The illuminated sign above the bartop read Quark’s, and Daphne caught the eye of the proprietor.

He was short, stocky, sly, with a snaggle-toothed grin, a Ferengi. “Yes?”

He had become more than used to comfort women parading about in his establishment, flashing the latinum allowances that their Cardassian masters had given them. Not that Quark would ever have complained, of course.

Daphne perched herself on one of the vacant stools, waved the Ferengi over.

“Can I have a raktajino, please?”

Quark sighed, nodded slowly, as if it were a hardship. “Two slips.”

“Oh, I haven’t actually—” she began, embarrassment causing a slight blush to wash over her cheeks.

“I’ll pay for it.”

Quark shrugged, took the latinum. He turned away for but a moment, then handed over her Klingon coffee. He didn’t care, as long as he got his money, and so Daphne didn’t question it.

“Uh, thank you,” she said quietly, holding the mug in her hands, as she wondered how exactly she would be able to pay back whoever had bought her the coffee.

Then her fears melted away and she smiled, when she turned to see Damar.

Despite his apparent kindness, he had a sour expression. She also saw the bruise that was forming on the lower part of his jaw, accompanied by a split lip.

She frowned. “I’ll pay you back... Well, I would, but I haven’t actually got any money.”

He let out a bitter laugh, swigged his drink. It was as black as tar, and twice as thick. “Don’t worry about it. I am a gil, you know.”

Daphne sipped tentatively at her drink. “Good for you. But, honestly, thank you. I know I’ve got a replicator and everything in my quarters but I fancied a change.”

It was a stupid, unfeeling thing to say; here she was complaining about the boredom of being locked up in her quarters, when there were people starving under her very nose. The life of the Promenade depended upon the suffering of the Bajorans, and the Cardassians’ happiness seemed to be based around the hardships of the Bajoran people. Daphne was human, but she doubted if that would be enough to protect her. It hadn’t so far.

But Damar only shook his head, waved over Quark, who gave the pair of them a slightly curious look. Then he refilled Damar’s glass. Damar took the glass, drank it hurriedly, hungrily.

Then she remembered their earlier conversation. “Don’t you have duty soon?”

Damar grunted, paused drinking for a moment. “Soon.”

She decided not to say anything else on the matter; it wasn’t really her place, and she didn’t care, did she?

“But...” she started, eager to fill the silence between them, even if the Promenade was steeped in noise, shouts, laughter, and the clang and clatter of the metal gates as they opened and shut to separate the Bajoran rabble from the Cardassian officers. “You managed to return to your quarters in one piece, then, I take it?”

For a slight moment, he looked indignant, but the expression soon morphed into amusement. He chuckled, looked down at his drink, then over at her. He hadn’t looked at her yet, and he wondered why.

“I did.” He spoke genuinely, openly, but his face was guarded, almost unreadable.

She smiled, and as she sipped at her coffee, he watched her out of the corner of his eye, watched her for maybe too long. But he couldn’t help himself.

“And then you came straight here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, holding her hands around the warm mug, as if she were cold, but she wasn’t.

He grinned, pursed his lips, then continued with his drink. “Oh, I had a rest for perhaps half an hour. But…”

“But what?”

Damar gave her a curious look, as if he were surprised that she was asking him so many questions. “Well, I had too much on my mind.”

“And you always come here when you’ve lots on your mind?”

He nodded, finished his drink, tapped his fingers idly on the bartop. “I suppose.”

“It’s not particularly relaxing here,” Daphne said, keeping her voice loud and her words cleared, eager to be heard over the Cardassians’ cries of “Dabo!” and the solemn voices of the Bajorans. Resisting the urge to close her eyes, to tell herself that she wasn’t where she was, she caught Damar’s eye. Purposefully.

“Then why did you come here?”

“Well, I had to change,” she said. She had also changed, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

He remembered her in the clinging red dress, the silk material, her with her hair high; he remembered her scarlet lips, her aquamarine eyes. But she wasn’t wearing that now; she still looked the same. To him.

“I can see that,” he said.

“And my…” She paused, thinking, not even sure how to describe Miri. “Roommate, I guess. She’s moved out, and well, I guess I was lonely.” She had formulated that sentence in particularly that way to see how he would react, if he would take it as an invitation, but he had a dry, sombre expression instead.

“Ah,” Damar breathed, still holding her gaze. “I would say that she’s moved in with someone else?”

Daphne let out a long, low, bitter laugh. “You’re not part-Betazoid, are you?”

That seemed to amuse him. “And you’re not part-Orion?”

It took but a second for her to wholly understand the reference; to start off with, she was indignant, enraged, but she found her lips curving upwards in a smile, a grateful, pleased, even… curious smile.

Then she sighed. “It’s a small station, but I wonder if I’ll ever see her again.”

“Her name’s… Miri?”

Daphne nodded, almost surprised that he would know. “Yes.”

He noticed her confusion, shrugged. “Gul Dukat… he’s not an—” He broke off, looked away briefly. “He’s not an immodest man. He’ll be parading her around the Promenade sooner or later.”

“Parading her?” Daphne repeated, sneering, feeling a little bit sick.

“But I dare say you’ll see her before you know it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve said that Dukat’s not immodest. He’s also…” Once more, his words faded into silence and he seemed slightly uncomfortable; he wasn’t about to sleight his commander, not a human, anyway. “Fickle.”

She almost could’ve laughed. “I’d never thought of Cardassians as being fickle. Immodest, yes.”

Damar nearly grinned, but settled for just raising an eyeridge.

Then she twisted round in her chair, held him firm in her gaze. “Damar, tell me. Are you immodest?”

He laughed. “Very. I’m not all that fickle, though.” For a moment longer, they regarded each other, curious, surprised, perplexed. Then he cleared his throat, stood up. “Well, I’m off to Ops. I’d offer to walk you back to your quarters, but—”

She smiled. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure I can make it alone.”

He turned to leave nearly bumping into the barstool.

“I wonder if you’ll make it to Ops,” she murmured; he had heard, but he had only smiled.

Daphne didn’t watch him leave. She finished off her raktajino, pushed the mug towards Quark’s side of the bartop, then she cast her gaze, disbelieving and slightly disgusted, over the Promenade. The sweetness of the coffee was still heavy in her stomach as she caught sight of someone who she hadn’t seen before. There was a blur of brown, and she saw a tall, slender man emerge from a shadowy corridor. His taut face was framed with a mop of blond hair; his eyes were sunken, serious. He seemed to be chasing someone, a Bajoran. The Bajoran man was running, pushing his way through the Dabo girls and the Ferengi waiters and other workers, only to be faced with a barricade of Cardassian officers.

Then Daphne forced herself to rub her eyes, to squint, to tell herself that she was dreaming. The man in the brown uniform stopped running. He reached out his hand, which became impossibly long, orange, almost glittery. He was stood many metres away and yet he had clapped a hand on the Bajoran man’s shoulder, spun him around. Then the serious-faced man had caught up with him.

Daphne frowned, wondered what exactly had been in that raktajino. She had heard tales of people like that, but that’s what they were – tales, stories, folklore. She had no idea that Changelings were real.

A quarrel interrupted her thinking. The Changeling had nodded to two Cardassian officers – part of the makeshift barricade – and was dressing down the Bajoran man.

Intrigued, disturbed, Daphne left Quark’s Bar, stood closer to the middle of the Promenade. The station ceased to move, then, or so it seemed. Everyone was standing so very still, eyes fixed on the arrest.

From somewhere out of sight, a door slid open and a tall Cardassian stepped through, his heavy boots stomping down the metal steps. He rounded on the scene, standing squarely next to the Changeling.

“Odo!” he declared. “What do you have for me?”

Odo cleared his throat. “Gul Dukat,” he said gruffly. “This Bajoran man here, he was reported as having stolen something.”

Dukat raised an eyeridge, his gaze wandering over to the now-terrified Bajoran. “Stolen what?”

Odo shook his head. “A loaf of bread.”

Dukat shook his head, seemed perturbed, annoyed. He did not let the Bajoran look away from him. “What is your name?”

The man looked down at his grubby, shaking hands; he had picked up the bread but he had dropped it long ago during the chase. “Solin Murat,” he responded glumly.

“You will look at me when I speak to you.” But Dukat didn’t sound angry; he sounded disappointed, as a parent might sound when scolding a child.

Solin looked up, nearly wilting under the Cardassian’s imperious glare.

“There is more than enough food to go around. How could you challenge that?”

Daphne’s stomach was churning and her head was spinning. Unknowingly, she had walked through the Promenade and was standing mere metres away from the scene. She pushed her way through the crowd, where she met the sorry gaze of Solin. She wondered if he had meant to catch her eye, or if he had simply looked upon her as a friendly face among a sea of glowering Cardassians.

Trying desperately not to arouse either Dukat or Odo’s suspicions, Daphne snuck closer to them. But she was too late; she had gone too far. And so she decided that she would use that; she wasn’t going to backtrack.

“More than enough food?” she echoed, daring Dukat to interrupt her. “Are you blind?”

Dukat raised an eyeridge, amused by her – this human woman – as she dared to challenge him, to call him out in front of not only his soldiers but also his subjects. He said nothing, waited for her to carry on.

“No, you’re not blind,” Daphne said; her heart was pounding away in her chest, and she half-wondered if it might burst through her top. “But you are delusional.” She gestured to the Bajorans who were crowded together, dirty and scared, behind the metal gate, their frightened faces lit up against the fumes of ore-processing.

She nearly laughed. “Do these people look well-fed? Hydrated? Cared for?”

“Odo,” Dukat said shortly, seriously; he narrowed his eyes, and Daphne was caught, stuck, unmoving, in his glare. “You will let the Bajoran go.”

“Sir?” the Changeling asked. “Of course.” He nodded at Solin, took his hands off him, and the Bajoran scurried away, soon to be lost amongst the dozens upon dozens of other faces that were just as tired, just as despairing, as he was.

Odo had started to walk away, but the clear voice of Dukat called him back.

“Take the girl. Put her in a holding cell.”

The Changeling would’ve raised an eyebrow if he had any to raise, but he didn’t question Dukat again. Nodding curtly, he swiftly came over to Daphne before she could even realise what was happening. His hands were on her slight shoulders.

“What the--?” Daphne started, whipping her head around to glower at the Changeling. “Let me go. What the hell have I done?”

But Odo said nothing, just gave her an unreadable look.

Her lower lip quivering, whether with fear or anger, Daphne tried to round on Dukat, pulling her arms free.

“Fine, lock me up,” she hissed, coming right up to Dukat’s face.

He turned, and their faces were nearly touching. He closed his eyes as her warm breath hit his cheek, cleared his throat.

“You’re the one who’s lost a comfort woman,” she finished, as she stopped wrestling with Odo. She would’ve said more, so much more. She would’ve done more, too. She would’ve asked him about Miri. No, not asked. Demanded. But she couldn’t; she was interrupted.

“Sir!”

Gul Dukat rubbed his forehead, groaned, as he saw one of his officers come charging down the stairs that led to Ops. The broad shoulders, the serious face. Damar.

“Sir, it’s our outpost on Corinthus II.”

Dukat fought back his temper, grabbed Damar by the arm and pulled him to one side. “What is everyone looking at?” he demanded, looking over Damar’s shoulder, his words hot and fierce. “Get back to work!”

The Bajorans had long since stopped watching, aware that they shouldn’t stare, that they should mind their own business. But the Cardassians had been hovering, knowing full-well that their commander had a precarious temper; they also knew that he didn’t like to be interrupted. Or made a fool of.

Satisfied that his men had stopped gaping and staring, Dukat calmed himself. “What, Damar?” he asked in a low voice.

Damar squared his jaw. “Well, Sir, there’s been another raid on Corinthus II. Our troops had no idea. There was no warning. They’re all dead.”

Weary, Dukat pressed a hand to his temple. “Federation?”

“We think so.”

That was all the persuasion that Dukat needed. “Get her out of here, Odo.”

Damar followed Dukat’s line of sight as Odo set a hand on Daphne’s shoulder, led her away.

“What did she do?” Damar asked.

“What do you care, Damar?”

Damar didn’t know how to answer that. He shrugged, bit his lip. “I don’t. But, maybe, you should… well, you should try and… calm down before you make rash decisions.”

“Damar,” Dukat said dangerously.

Damar knew that tone all too well. “I’m not criticising you, Sir,” he said quickly, smoothly. “It’s only… You’ve tried so hard to portray yourself to the Bajorans as a compassionate, patient leader. You’ve tried too hard for such a… a lapse in judgement.”

“There was no lapse in judgement. But perhaps there was on your part.” He eyed Damar curiously.

But Damar didn’t look uncomfortable; he didn’t shift his weight from foot to foot. Instead, he just nodded.

Dukat pinched his nose, sighed, looked out of the corner of his eye as Damar glanced towards the other side of the Promenade. Odo was leading Daphne around the corner, to the holding cells. Away. He saw her no more.


	8. Losing Control

**2366: Terok Nor**

She knew she could’ve kicked and screamed, but thrashing around wouldn’t have done her much good, if any. The Changeling’s grip on her shoulders was firm but not painful, and he said nothing as he walked her to the holding cells. The cells were rather like little booths, perhaps a few metres squared, and Daphne saw that hers was towards the very end.

Steeling herself, she stole a gaze around the room, and her eyes fell upon the distressed, despairing faces of Bajoran upon Bajoran. They were sat as far towards the backs of their cells as they could, their backs almost pressed against the walls; their eyes were empty, pitiful.

And the Cardassian guards who stood duty were pitiless, sneers twisted on their grey faces; they held their disruptor rifles. Daphne swallowed, tore her eyes away from the scene as much as she could, and then Odo keyed in some sort of code. The forcefields for one of the cells buzzed then lowered, and he gestured for her to step through. She didn’t make a fuss; she stepped in, turned around, regarded him.

“Dukat hasn’t yet passed sentence on you yet,” Odo said, his face taut and serious, his words clear and severe. “But he shall do soon. He’s not a man who waits around.” He paused, seemed to be thinking, maybe even reconsidering. But then he cleared his throat, held her in his gaze, his eyes narrowed. “If you want my advice, you’ll sit quietly in here for a day or two, and then Dukat will most likely let you go.”

 _Most likely._ She could’ve laughed. But instead she inclined her head forwards ever so slightly, as if she wanted to thank Odo for his understanding and yet she didn’t quite want it enough.

The Changeling left, leaving some rudimentary instructions with his Cardassian staff, who appeared to listen to his words. Though, as Daphne noted, they weren’t always to obedient with Odo’s rules. After all, he worked for Dukat; he was the station’s security officer but Dukat was under no obligation to take his word for it. And he rarely ever did.

Yet another cell. Daphne blew air through her lips, and she didn’t need to tell herself that there were those in the other cells who were in much worse states than she was in. If anything, she was feeling a little bit of indigestion from the raktajino. A grim, disbelieving smile curled upon her red lips. Indigestion. Hardly worth complaining about.

She sat on her bunk – the uncomfortable, bumpy, metal bunk – for hours. The sky outside was eternally dark but there were no windows in the holding room anyway, and that sad fact only served to make Daphne all the more sure of where she was. Of the improbability of escape. At least, anytime soon.

“The two of you can leave.”

The words were spoken gruffly, and Daphne lifted her head up from her arms.

A sigh. “If it makes you feel any better, you can wait outside the door. There are other guards on duty by the cells.” The man sounded irritated, now.

Two sets of heavy footsteps dragged out of the cells, their owners muttering as they walked away. The door slid closed behind another figure, who stepped into the shadowy holding room.

Light from the low strip lighting on the ceiling glinted off the metal in the man’s uniform. Daphne squinted, all of a sudden alert, alarmed.

“Don’t make me regret this,” came that gruff voice again.

Daphne was already on her feet, advancing towards the forcefield. She had to command herself not to reach out her shaking hand; she had to remind herself that thousands of volts separated her from the outside world.

“You’ve chosen to do this,” she said simply, matter-of-fact, though she was extremely grateful. And she sounded as if she was, the words spoken breathily and quickly.

There was a spark as the forcefield shut down and Daphne stepped warily through. The air was warm, hot, close, muggy. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she realised that she was starting to feel faint. But she held her breath, closed her eyes, then turned to face Damar.

“I’ll say thank you, and I do mean it,” she said. “But I don’t like the idea of being indebted to you.”

The Cardassian grunted, began to walk for the exit. He waited for her to follow him. “You don’t owe me anything,” he muttered. “But I’ll only do this the once.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” she murmured, as she was forced to march to keep up with his long strides.

“You didn’t have to,” he said with a shrug.

She didn’t slow her pace. “Why did you do that? Let me go?”

Damar rubbed the nape of his neck, and the ridges there felt swollen and sore to the touch. Wincing, he caught her eye. “Because I think Gul Dukat made a mistake.”

“I didn’t think Cardassians made mistakes,” she said pointedly.

“The Union is at war with the Federation. It’s bad enough that you’re _here,_ nevermind the fact that you’ve been imprisoned.”

“I still am imprisoned, Damar,” she said flatly, but she knew that it wasn’t his fault. Was it?

He looked uncomfortable for the shortest of moments, but he said no more of it.

“Well…” Daphne began, now walking side-by-side with Damar as they navigated the heaving corridors and Promenade, jostling with Cardassian officers and Bajoran workers alike. “I’m going back to my quarters.”

Damar regarded her curiously, then he pursed his lips. “I will walk with you.”

“You will, will you?” she said, raising an eyebrow. Her attempt at sounding indignant and put-upon had all but failed.

He nodded. “Unless you’d rather be alone?”

“Unless you’re on duty?”

“I finished about twenty minutes ago.”

“And your first port of call was to let me go?”

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

She sighed. _There’s no supposing about it._ As they walked further and further into the Habitat section, the solemn voices of the Bajorans and the hiss of ore processing and the chatter at Quark’s became quieter and quieter, further and further away, until it was nothing but a distant memory. Daphne now felt so much more alone, now that it was just she and the Cardassian – and Damar – and now that they were walking together.

A shiver rattled through her and she clutched at her shoulders.

“Environmental controls must be broken,” Damar observed, tearing his gaze from her as she walked on ahead of him. “It’s much colder than I’d like in here.”

She nodded. Cardassians were cold-blooded; she did know that much. If she was feeling the chilly in the air, Damar must’ve been freezing.

“Here we are,” she murmured, typing in her access code. Without even thinking, she stepped into her quarters, and was about to make herself dinner. The chill of the corridor hit her, then, and she frowned. Then she realised that the door was still open, and Damar was standing in the doorway.

“You might as well come in,” Daphne said, motioning him in.

He did so, and when the door slid shut, Daphne wondered if she might have felt concerned, or scared, but she felt neither of these emotions. She was delighted, intrigued.

With the station’s engines thrumming gently all around them, the draft from the corridor was replaced with close and warm air. Daphne looked down at her hands, then back at the Cardassian.

“Do you want to know what I’m thinking?” she suddenly asked.

Damar raised an eyeridge. “What you’re thinking?”

She nodded. “I’m thinking that I must be mad,” she breathed. “I’ve just let – no, _welcomed –_ a Cardassian into my quarters. And there’s this tiny, so very tiny, but so very curious, part of me that’s pleased that I did it.”

He took a step forward, his footsteps silent. “You haven’t done anything.”

She nearly laughed, but instead her lips just curved upwards in a sympathetic smile. _Yet._

He jerked a thumb at the door. “I can go if you want.”

“No,” she shot back, before a blushing washed over her cheeks. “I mean… I don’t want you to go.”

He knew what could’ve happened then. That he could have taken perhaps ten or so steps over to her, closed the distance between the two of them; that he could’ve placed his hand on her soft face, looked into her bright, blue eyes; that he could’ve twirled her thick hair around his finger; that he could’ve rested a hand on her waist, felt her feminine curves, as he kissed her.

But he did none of those things.

Instead, Damar came over to perch on the edge of the sofa. He looked uncomfortable but he wasn’t going to say so. Daphne sat beside him and the sofa dipped ever so slightly. She crossed her legs, sighed, caught him firmly in her aquamarine gaze. She was studying him, trying to read him, as she ran her eyes over his firm jaw, his intelligent gaze, his thoughtful expression; she also noticed the intricate ridges and scales that adorned his neck, swooping upwards to his ears, chin, nose and up to his forehead.

Of course, she wondered how they felt, how it would make him feel. Her hands in her lap, she pursed her lips, considered.

“How long have you been here?”

His mind had been far away, and he blinked in confusion. “I—Oh, well, a few years. Dukat knew my family and I’d apparently impressed him. So, he had me posted here.”

“You’re a gil, right?”

He nodded.

“And yet you’re Dukat’s right-hand-man?”

Damar frowned, squared his shoulders. “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t, but I do now,” she said simply, a mischievous smile playing upon her red lips. “Besides, you’re always at his side. And you talk to him like no other officer does.”

“Legate Mardek comes quite close,” Damar said swiftly, pointedly.

She understood, and she smiled. “He does.” Then she looked away, not in thought, but with a mixture of shame and disgust, as the memories of that night – last night – returned to her.

Damar noticed her discomfort, cleared his throat. “I hadn’t meant to—”

But she cut him off, turning properly to face him, drawing her legs up underneath her. “No, it’s okay. I know.”

Glancing downwards, he saw that her hand, small and pale, was resting on the sofa. He covered it with his grey hand, felt the delicateness of her fingers and wrist, and was surprised when she didn’t pull her hand back, shoot off the sofa and demand that he leave.

Their gazes caught, clung. Daphne’s heart was beating wildly in her chest, and her brain was telling her so many things that she didn’t even know where to start. But she didn’t want to know. She didn’t care.


	9. Further and Further

**2366: Terok Nor**

But then.

“Oh, I should probably…” she started, faltered, and her words faded away. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, she hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words had tried to come out all the same. Against her will but not against her better judgement.

Damar shifted away from her slightly, took his hand from hers, tried to still the feelings, the needs, that were so close to being satisfied.

“If it’s my mention of Legate Mardek that—”

Daphne smiled, and in a second, she had touched a finger to his lips. “No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

She couldn’t provide him with an answer; she didn’t know what to say. So, gently, gingerly, she reached a hand up to his neck, her fingertips but a hair’s breadth away from the delicate, sensitive ridges that adorned the skin there.

“Can I…?” she asked, her words hushed.

He inclined his head slightly, his nonchalant response belying what he truly felt, wanted. He turned his head as her fingers touched his neck, softly, caressing. She had expected them to feel rough, coarse, but they didn’t.

“You feel cold.”

He shrugged. “I am cold.”

Daphne hadn’t known it, or hadn’t cared to have known it, but she was sitting much closer to him than she had been before, their thighs almost touching, her hand continuing its curious stroking of his neck, shoulders. He grunted, nearly jerked his head away, and she stared at him, alarmed.

“What did I–?”

But he only laughed. Then he had placed a hand to her cheek, and an arm snaked around her waist.

There was no fear, no disgust, in her eyes. She didn’t care what or who he was; that he was a Cardassian, it seemed, made no difference to her. His grey face wore a handsome, thoughtful expression, and his jaw was firm, set.

Then she let him pull her closer to him, let him put his lips to hers, briefly, almost intangibly. She pulled away, became guarded. And she hated herself for reacting like that. Before she knew it, she was standing up.

“Daphne.”

She heard him but she didn’t say anything. Until he came over to her, and his hands were on her arms, holding her, but she knew that she could’ve shrugged his touch off easily. She didn’t, though. She wanted him to hold her.

“I can’t,” she muttered, looking him in the eye.

“I’m not telling you to.”

“No, and that’s what the problem is,” she said, as the reality of those words twisted in her stomach. “You see, I’ve got this image in my head of what Cardassians are, what they _should_ be. They shouldn’t care. They should take advantage.” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Legate Mardek. _That’s_ my view of all Cardassians.”

That was when she shrugged off his hands.

“At least, that was the idea. When I was brought to this station, Damar, I’d already made my mind up that all Cardassians were going to be like that, like the officers who had captured me and brought me here. But… but… it’s not like that.” Then she held him in her gaze and she wasn’t going to let him go, to even let him look away. “You’re not like that.”

Damar seemed unsure of what to say, unsure of even what she was saying. “You’re saying I’m not like other Cardassians?” He had adopted a dangerous tone. “You’re saying that I’m less than a Cardassian?”

Furiously, she shook her head. “No, I’m saying that you’re so far from my original idea of _what_ a Cardassian would be like. And Damar, please, don’t take that as an insult. You’re a Cardassian, a true Cardassian, in so many ways.”

He raised an eyeridge, looked slightly offended.

“I’m sure you’re arrogant, you’re obsessed with serving your people’s military. But I think that there’s more to you than that.”

“I could say the same for you.” There was the bitterness of the kanar on his breath.

 _Oh,_ she thought ruefully. _It’s a mess._ He was now holding her face in his hands, his eyes watching her intently, curiously. Her chest was heaving, her heart was beating a million times a minute. Then she stood on her toes, kissed him, fully, as if she hadn’t wanted anything else at that one moment, just him. His hands travelling down her body, her waist, her hips, and only the station’s low humming engines could have interrupted them then.

The engines and the commpanel.

Daphne stepped back, a smile already on her face, as her hands left the flushed ridges on Damar’s neck. She caught her reflection – and his – in the window, and smoothed down her hair.

“Yes?” she called out, taking a breath.

The door slid open to reveal three Cardassians. The two at the back were tall, heavy-set, brutish-looking soldiers, with disruptor rifles in their hands and solemn looks on their faces. Stood in front of them was someone who Daphne – and Damar – knew all too well. Whether she liked that fact or not.

Gul Dukat swaggered in, after waving an impatient hand at his entourage. Bodyguards.

“Damar,” he said smoothly, his voice dangerous. “I’ve been wondering where you are.”

“Dukat,” Damar said genially, regarding his superior officer. “I’m not on duty until tomorrow.”

“No, I know that,” Dukat retorted. “Still, I wondered.”

“Is there something you need me for, Sir?”

A smirk curled at the corners of Dukat’s mouth, as his gaze flashed over at Daphne, before settling on his officer, on his right-hand-man. There were a million questions that Dukat could’ve asked then, that he _longed_ to ask. And he knew that he could’ve made a demand out of it but he didn’t.

Turning on his heel, he made for the door, returning to his bodyguards.

The manufactured smile on Daphne’s face disappeared as soon as Dukat had left, and she groaned, pressed a hand to her forehead. She was going to say something but she looked over at Damar and saw that he seemed to feel nothing but pride for his superior.

“I wonder why he didn’t mention the fact that I’m no longer in the holding cell,” she mused.

Damar shrugged, rubbed the nape of his neck. “I requested that Dukat let you go. He obviously agreed. Why would he mention it?”

She pursed his lips. She knew that that made sense but she also knew that she would’ve rather owed her freedom to Damar, than to Dukat.

Before silence could wash over them, she cleared her throat. “Well, I was going to—” She broke off, stuttered, giggled. “I was going to make some dinner, before… well, before…” As she faltered and stammered yet again, Damar made for the door.

“I guess,” she said as he walked away. “I’ll see you—?”

Damar could’ve held her, kissed her, there and then but he didn’t. He nodded and it told her all she needed to know. This time, she watched him leave.

* * *

“I don’t think I should.”

The Cardassian officer watched her, regarded her, scrutinised her, even, as he stood in the doorway to Daphne’s quarters.

“It wasn’t a request,” Belen returned simply, holding her firm in his watchful gaze.

Throwing her arms up in despair, she came over to him, parted her lips, sighed. “I don’t care if it’s not a request. I’m _not_ going.”

“Well,” Belen began dangerously, narrowing his eyes. “It’s up to you.”

“So I _do_ have a choice?”

A grim smile took over his features; he laughed. “No, you don’t have a choice in this matter. But you do have a choice about how you behave. Either you come quietly, obediently… or you’re kicking and screaming as I pull you to Ops.”

She knew which of those options she preferred. And she also knew which of those options would’ve gotten her killed. Pursing her lips, she nodded solemnly.

“That’s a hell of a choice,” she murmured. “I go willingly as a good comfort woman should, ready to serve my Cardassian masters, in which case I’m a collaborator or as good as. Or I act as if I’ve still got some shred of dignity left and defend myself to the last.”

Belen snorted. “Very poetic.” He edged closer but she didn’t shrink away from him. “You know, I requested that I escort you to see Gul Dukat.”

“You requested?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why?” She knew why.

“Yes,” he said simply, matter-of-fact. “Turak was scheduled to take you up to see Dukat but I had the feeling that… well, that his way of doing things would involve a few…” He faltered. “Detours.”

She nodded, and everything was now abundantly clear, if it hadn’t been already. She could’ve thanked him but she didn’t. A slight, genial smile was all that she was prepared to give him at that moment. On the other hand, she thought before she could contain herself, she would’ve thanked Damar.

“After you,” she said with a sigh, waving Belen to walk in front of her.

“You really ought to change.”

“I ought to change?” she repeated, staring at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You can’t seriously expect Dukat to entertain you looking like that.” He looked her up and down.

She crossed her arms. “I don’t want him to entertain me. Besides, what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

He looked at her, his mouth a flat line, at the loose-fitting trousers that were cinched in at the waist and the low-neckline top. “You look fine to me. But Dukat might not see it that way.”

“Then he can see it how he wants,” she said shortly, snorting. “Go on, then. Lead the way.”

With a contentious groan, Belen finally relented. The door slid shut behind the two of them and she proceeded to follow him on the slow, tedious walk to Ops.

Belen scowled. “Don’t look around.”

But she couldn’t help it. She could look away, of course. She could look down at the floor, away to the vastness of space that hung through the windows. But then she would still be able to hear the anguished cries of Bajoran workers as the heaved ore and begged for food. And she would also still be able to hear the disgruntled mutterings of the Cardassian overseers, and the blasts of the disruptors.

Ops was a large, circular room, in which a dozen or so Cardassian officers were busily manning various consoles and looking at various displays. Daphne had no idea what any of it meant but it seemed to be positioned at the centre of the station, which, she gathered, attached to it a serious degree of importance.

The Cardassian workers stopped what they were doing, raised their eyes from their work, and held the human woman firmly in their confused, intrigued gazes. Their grey hands ceased typing furiously on their consoles, were now paused, waiting.

Belen was a small, slight man, and Daphne had no trouble in keeping up with his strides as the two of them went up some steps. The metal clanged underfoot, and Daphne realised instantly where they were going.

Self-consciously, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears. She cleared her throat. There were only a few steps, and when at the top, she stole a glance through the window in the door. Sullen-faced, eyeridges drawn together, stroking his chin, was Gul Dukat. There was an officer in there with him, whose back was facing the door.

Belen grabbed Daphne by the arm, pulled her back and away from the window. She glowered at him but before she could’ve done or said anything else, Dukat spoke.

“Enter.”

She let Belen shove her into the office, and Dukat leant forward, steepling his hands on the desk. Then he waved at the door and the other officer in the room turned to leave.

Daphne looked up, her eyes falling on – and clinging to – Damar.

Damar nearly faltered but caught himself. He cleared his throat. “Sir, I’ll see to those casualty reports right away.”

“You shall,” Dukat replied smoothly.

And with that, Damar pulled his gaze away from Daphne, though he let his eyes rest upon her, on her beautiful, watchful face, and on her body, for longer than he knew.

“I was under the impression that you wanted to see me,” Daphne said quickly, unapologetically, once Damar had gone.

Belen stepped forward, was about to chastise her, but Dukat raised a hand.

“Then you were under the right impression,” Dukat said smoothly, not at all concerned by her challenging tone.

“I do hope that Glinn Belen here didn’t give you any trouble on your way up here?” he asked but there was no concern in his voice.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “He was fine. Is that it?”

“Now, Daphne,” he began, slowly, seriously, leaning forwards even more. He nodded to Belen, who grudgingly took a step back.

She shuddered when he said her name.

“You are aware of the circumstances under which you’re here?”

She could’ve laughed. She wanted to laugh. Circumstances. What a word for it, she thought ruefully. “Yes.”

“Then you know what is expected of you?”

“I’m not an idiot,” she snapped. “But I do have some degree of self-respect. I suppose I should apologise for that. I know what a comfort woman does, or is _meant_ to do, and I also know – and you had better, too – that I’ve got no intention of doing _that.”_

“Oh,” he hissed. “Intention doesn’t even come into it. Belen and his comrade made a decision when they encountered you. You were trespassing, you know?”

She opened her mouth to protest but he had already continued talking.

“They could’ve shot you there and then as an enemy spy. But they didn’t. They saw some worth in you, that you deserved more than simply being treated as a war criminal. You’ve been given a chance here, don’t you see that?”

“A chance?” she echoed, almost thinking that she was dreaming the entire conversation. “A chance to what? To be touched and used and assaulted by you and your men? To be treated as if I’m nothing? To be paraded around at those hideous little soirees that you hold?”

For a split second, Gul Dukat’s face was unreadable. His eyes were narrowed, his lips were pursed. He was thinking, of course, but thinking about what, Daphne had no idea. Her words had wounded not him but rather his sense of self-importance, his pride, and he came very close to punishing her for that.

“Do you know who let you out of the holding cell?”

She blinked. “I—Yes. Gil Damar did.”

“Yes and no.” Dukat sighed. “He keyed in the codes, yes. But I was the one who agreed to let you go.”

“And he’s the one who _asked_ for me to be let go. I’m rather more thankful for that.”

“Oh, you’re thankful?” Dukat asked, and a slight sneer twisted upon his features.

“As thankful as I can be, considering that I’ve just traded one cage for another.”

Dukat shook his head. “Terok Nor is not a cage. For the Bajoran people… it’s not viewed in the best light, despite my best efforts to improve their living and working conditions. However, I digress. You, Daphne, are a human. You are alone here, and I suggest that you remember that sombre fact when you next try to challenge my authority.”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” she muttered, turning on her heel, only to have Belen glare at her. She stayed put, bit her lip to stop if from quivering.

“You don’t have to,” he agreed. “But you should. I’m betting that your days are looking quite free? You’re not too busy?”

She laughed silently. “I’m busy figuring out a way out of here.”

“If that’s not taking up too much of your time, can I suggest that you at least _try_ and control your behaviour for the get-together that I’m hosting tonight?”

“Get-together?” She was about to shake her head but then she remembered and she simply just stood there, accepting. “You can count on it.”


End file.
